Late summer. Hot days, breezy nights—if we’re lucky. Even as we’re celebrating the fruits of the harvest—our glorious, ripe tomatoes, those massive zucchini squashes—we see signs of withering, of longer nights, of exhausted energy. Everything in my garden looks a little parched, a little fried, a little worn out. I don’t know about you, but for me this season is always one of change and a paradox of celebration and mourning.  It’s easy to see signs of wear and tear, of life well lived.

Striped canna leaves are looking a trifle scorched, even though this plant is largely in the shade and it has been a mild summer.

My day lilies have bloomed their hearts out for three solid months. Now they’re anemic. Their last, valiant effort is to produce seed pods.

The hydrangeas are papery and drying. They make lovely dried flowers, but I usually cannot bear to cut them.

My coral-colored cannas are doing a fine job of producing seed pods …

… from which these shiny, black, pea-sized seeds can be gathered. I’m hoping to propagate some this way. I’ll have to do more research.

At the beginning of July, these seed “lanterns” from my goldenrain tree (Koelreuteria paniculata) were a vivid chartreuse. Now they’re crackly and bronze.

Rose hips are bulging in the sun. Few roses are braving the heat these days.

I’m mourning the loss of three more birch tress that are slowly dying, just as three others did last year. I love these trees. They were a gift from my mother and Ian and I planted them the first year we owned this house. For a long time they were the only landscaping we could afford to do. I’ve watched these trees grow, season after season, through my bedroom window. When Asher was a tiny baby and I was sick and then recovering in bed, I watched the white branches get their leaves, which fluttered in the breeze day after day. I love the way their late-afternoon shadows dance on my window and blinds. For now, the lower branches still have leaves and from my window they’re still beautiful. They are dying from the top down.

These photos aren’t the most beautiful. They don’t show the garden in its best possible light. But I like them anyway. Change happens and the best we can ever do is to embrace it and find the beauty in it.

Busy, busy, busy summer! We still have three and a half more weeks off school and I’m pleased to say I am not so fed up with summer vacation that I’m ready to tear my hair out like in other past, lonely summers.

I’ve been working steadily and the kids have greatly enjoyed their various activities (preschool, summer camps, swim team, playgroup play dates, and lots of time with friends.) I have gobs of work to do in the next two weeks before our trip to Burning Man, but I’m keeping calm and carrying on, as they say.

I’m happy to report that I’ve even been able to squeeze in a little reading for pleasure, which isn’t always possible in my world. Here’s what I’ve been reading, in addition to all the books I read to my kids:

Little House in the Big Woods, by Laura Ingalls Wilder

The classic, just as you remember it, which I may or may not have read when I was a kid. It seems to me I read some of these books, but I really don’t remember them. As farming and domestic arts are a big part of the third-grade curriculum at Lucas’s school, I’m pretty sure this is on the reading list for this year. We are starting now to read it aloud. Next up, Farmer Boy.

Magyk (Septimus Heap Book One), by Angie Sage

This is a newish fantasy series for the 9- to 12-year-old crowd. There are at least five of these Septimus Heap books. The back cover says that fans of Harry Potter will love Septimus Heap, which is why I bought it. I tend to agree, although there are plenty of differences and unique characteristics in this fantasy world. I would be happy to read this aloud to the younger children in that recommended age group; it’s not too scary. Orphaned children, plenty of magyk spells, a dragon boat—really what more could you ask for?

Inkheart, by Cornelia Funk

What can I say? I love children’s fiction! Inkheart is the first of another fantasy series for children 9 to 12 years old. This is one of those books about a book—a fascinating and dangerous world leaks out of the pages of a book and into our world. Villains abound in this story, and their dastardly deeds go unchecked, but for the efforts of a bookish girl, her book-restoring father, and a homesick loner thrust out of his storybook and marooned here. I’d say this series is better for those on the upper end of that age bracket, even for precocious readers. It was very fun and I’m looking forward to reading the sequel. Meggie is a wonderful 12-year-old heroine who loves books—like me!

Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse, by Robert Rankin

I bought this book for its title alone. Rankin is kind of a mix of Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams, and this book has a liberal dose of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, too. It’s a murder mystery set in Toy City, where toys and dolls walk and talk and drink alcohol. It was fun and irreverent, and I’m curious about Rankin’s other books, but I think this novel should have wrapped up about 40 pages before it actually did.

The Gates, by John Connolly

I’ve never read John Connolly before this one, which I picked up at the library because it had a nifty cover and was featured in the “new titles” section. The protagonist is 11 years old, but I’m not quite sure if this book is a juvenile novel or an adult novel. I would recommend it! Very fun. The gates of hell open up and assorted demons escape into an English suburban community. Only the boy and his dog understand how evil the neighbors down the street really are.

The Robber Bride, by Margaret Atwood

I’m still trying to get through this book. For some reason I put it down and picked it up repeatedly. I’ll guess the reason is simply that life happened. This is my first Atwood book—I know, I know. I should have read lots of her work before now—at least The Handmaid’s Tale—but I haven’t. (I blame all the ninjas and zombies.) So, despite the fact that it’s taking me forever to read this novel about five women, one of whom has profoundly betrayed all the rest, supposedly died, and then reappeared to intersect their lives again should not reflect on the author. The fault is mine. Atwood’s book is has a rich and intelligent plot and her characters sing on the page. I hope to finish this one in the next week or so.

Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

We had a good time at Grandma and Grandpa’s house last weekend. We celebrated Grandpa’s 65th birthday with family, watched the kiddos swim, and ate delicious barbecued ribs, corn on the cob, salad, and other goodies.

I couldn’t help myself—I just had to snap some shots of Grandma’s garden, in all its August glory.

Gaillardia flowers, still chugging away, blooming and then drying out in the Central Valley heat.

Grandma’s hollyhocks and twisty morning glories are gorgeous. We found this strange blue flower blooming in her tree!

Grape vines that try to take over the world—I always hope to capture the color of the light through the leaves, but the photo never quite does it justice.

Toward evening, the morning glories fold up for the night.

A baby sea monster rose out of the greenish depths of Grandma’s pool.

Back home again, I found some pretty pink clouds in the evening sky.

Lucas off to camp, Daddy off to work. Me and Asher with all kinds of time for …

chalk drawings on the patio,

inspection of garden flowers,

and the study of sun and shadow, curves and lines and points …

for free-ranging hens, like Avalanche here,

and for growing pumpkins, green and ghostly white,

for purple morning glories, cana seed pods,

and corn in the morning light. How do we know when it’s ripe?

It’s August, so the crepe myrtles are blooming, bursting!

We’re busy, so the playroom needs sweeping. A million precious things scattered a million different places.

And then the blocks simply must come out to play,

and Mommy simply MUST work a tad.

“Bob the Builder” is fun for Asher. Chapter 8 is not so fun for Mommy.

The leftover Ciro’s pizza simply MUST be Lunch.

“I will take my nap on the couch. For ONE minute. And then you wake me up and say, ‘Asher, it’s time to wake up to play!'”

Mia’s Apple Tree

Cameleon Was A Spy

I’ll be damned! He is asleep on the couch, just like he promised.

More of Chapter 8 in the hush of the sleeping preschooler, who,

miracle of miracles!

awakes with a smile and gentle

pat, pat, pat footfalls,

bear in hand.

We fetch Lucas from summer camp, where he wove a tiny rug.

“When can I go to big-boy summer camp?” Asher asks. Again.

“Buckle up, boys. We’re going to the library,”

where they cannot see the books for the computer that has kid games and a candy-colored keyboard.

But the Carmichael Library is newly remodeled and lovely, as is evident in the rotunda. Mommy wants to take more pictures, but then feels too much like a weirdo.

There’s also too much bickering between Asher and Lucas over the computer, so Mommy decides to check out.

Three books for boys, three books for Daddy.

We visit Great-Grandma and Great-Aunt, who are fine and old and loving and mysterious and bored until we arrive.

They don’t believe we have chickens.

Home again, we collect the day’s eggs. The green ones are lucky, don’t ya know.

And “Toy City” grows and grows some more.

For dinner, tasty snapper, spinach, snap peas, garden tomatoes, à la Daddy.

Sundown.

There’s still time for chicken ranging, feeding, and holding,

for watering the garden,

for watering the boys, giddy and nekkid, screeching and laughing.

“MY FOOT! I stepped in chicken poop!”

Shivering.

Shower. Teeth. Jammies. Stories. Lotion for eczema. Songs. Cuddles.

“You check on us?”

“Oh yes.”

Mom gave me some old calico scraps from her fabric stash a while back. They are so old-fashioned she didn’t want them anymore. They moved into my house and sat on my desk for weeks. I thought I’d make some new cloth napkins for our mealtimes, as our old ones are getting kind of ratty from everyday use.

Eventually, Mom asked me what I was going to do with these calicoes and I told her. “Oh, give it all back to me. I’ll make them for you. I have the time and you don’t.”

And so she did it in a jiffy with her super-fancy serger that she won’t even let me touch. See how she still takes care of me? They’re pretty, aren’t they? This is about the only place for flowers in my all-boy household.

We parents are sometimes allowed to sleep until 7:30 a.m. It has been happening more often lately, especially after a particular recent blowup over the unneccessary waking of Daddy at 5:30 a.m., which seems to have made a difference. Some mornings we wake to find our boys peacefully looking at books on the living-room couch. Other mornings we wake to hear them fighting over something that they both want. We were just telling some friends that lately, more often than not, our mornings have been gentler.

This morning, there was too much excitement in the air. Asher marched around the house shouting, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake UP!” Lucas was a little subtler, quietly saying, “Oh my! Look what the Tomato Fairy has brought us!” He had to repeat it a few times before his sleepy parents clued in.

We came out to the kitchen to find this bounty, this glorious Lughnasadh gift from the Tomato Fairy. (I had no idea there was such a fairy! Imagine my surprise!) There on green and yellow silks rested gorgeous tomatoes from Lucas’s garden, harvested at their peak in the early morning stillness. A little note from the Tomato Fairy reads, “For The Wilson 18 tamatoo.” I’ve never seen anything cuter.

A few of these were eaten with breakfast, then I took the rest outside where the light was better. My little 8-year-old gardener is pleased as punch. Now I’m on the hunt for the perfect dinner recipe for these beauties.

Happy First Fruits!

Asher and I walked to school two mornings last week. (With the shift to our summer schedule, we hadn’t been doing that as much since we had to drive Lucas to summer camp, too.) It was fun to have those cool morning walks together.

We discussed again where the curb water drains to. “What does this sign say, Mama?”
“Protect our creeks. No dumping. Drains to Arcade Creek.”
“Under the road?”

We visited those bumpy sedum plants again—he remembered just where they were. And guess what! They are flowering, with tiny star-shaped white flowers.

We also visited the “super-secret spy tree.” I had no idea it was any such thing.

Asher likes to know where the roads go. “This one goes to the zoo? This other road goes to Lucas’s school?” Yesterday he told me, “That road goes to the Fairy Zoo.”
“Oh? The Fairy Zoo? What kind of animals do they have at the Fairy Zoo?” I asked.
“Horses and marmosets.”

There is nothing quite like a crisp summer morning. It always seems that the whole world is savoring the moist coolness all the more for the day’s coming heat.

We are having full, full days with summer camp and day care and work for Mom and Dad.

Today there was a play performance at summer camp. Lucas was a tax collector in the “Dragon with Thirteen Tails,” performed on the Oak Stage at Sacramento Waldorf School. We also got to see a gymnastics demonstration, as the children have been doing movement and assorted gymnastics in the awesome gym.

Some days, to get out of the heat, we play with puzzles.

And with chalk in the cool morning.

Lucas goes to piano lessons on Wednesdays. This week he noodled around until he figured out the first part of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” When he told his piano teacher, Mrs. Tan, she helped him work on it and learn the next little bit. I love that she goes with his interests!

We swim at Grandma’s and Papa’s house, and at swim team practice and swim lessons. Only four more of those are left!

We watch our garden grow—the things we planted …

… and the things we didn’t, like this volunteer sunflower!

And we watch and care for the chickens. Oh, how they are enriching life around here! Our first week of chicken farming has been going well. We’re all fascinated by them.

At first the chickens slept on the ground in a cuddle puddle, all higgledy-piggledy, piled on top of one another in the corner of the chicken run. They hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet, I think. Gradually they are claiming this new space as their own. Ian had to pick them up one night and put them on the roost inside the chicken coop, but after that, they seem to get it. Last night we found them roosting just where they’re supposed to be (where it’s safest), without any help from us.

We gathered sixteen eggs in the first four days, after that, I lost count. They are averaging almost four eggs per day. They eat pretty much ALL of our kitchen scraps, including milk leftover from the boys’ morning cereal (for the calcium). I didn’t know chickens drank milk, did you?

The eggs taste wonderful!

This summer I’ve worked on another bunch of clam diggers for Asher, more because I need the sewing practice than he needs the pants.  I’m now working on the fifth pair, every once in a blue moon. If I had a solid free hour, I’d finish them. Here are two pairs that are done. I made a golden pair with yellow stars, too. Too bad “lellow” isn’t his favorite color anymore.

We match colorful pants/clam diggers/shorts with tees like these to make the perfect play clothes for little boys. But aren’t all clothes play clothes when you’re little?